It's Always You
by HermioneGirl96
Summary: A sequel to "Face the Future with You." Eric goes through the process of getting diagnosed with ADHD as he solidifies his relationship with Jack.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: The characters belong to Ngozi Ukazu. **

**A/N 1: I had two betas for this fic: happyzimm and OrSaiKellieLonore. I am eternally grateful to happyzimm for their enthusiasm and OrSaiKellieLonore for their input and corrections. **

**A/N 2: I'm autistic, as is one of my betas; my other beta has ADHD and went through the diagnosis process recently. This doesn't mean we know everything about autism or ADHD, but I'm not randomly guessing, either. If you have ADHD and feel I've misrepresented the condition or the diagnosis process, I'm open to hearing that, but if you don't have ADHD or autism please don't make comments on the representation here. **

**A/N 3: This is a canon-divergent fic because Jack and Bitty are already together before Jack graduates. Jack and Bitty's neurodivergence is not meant to be canon-divergent, however. Certainly the characters aren't confirmed to have ADHD or autism in the original comic, but they have a lot of traits consistent with those conditions, and I'm trying to write them as compliant with both canon and my headcanons.**

Eric kind of wants to wait until the end of the hockey season to deal with the possibility of having ADHD, but, the week after he and Jack get together, he finds out that he failed a test that he'd completely forgotten was going to happen. It's not the first time he's forgotten about a test, but he hasn't flunked one since high school; last year he was able to remember bits and pieces of lectures and readings and make enough semi-educated guesses that he scraped by with Cs and C-minuses on the tests he forgot about. But the thing about school is that it keeps getting harder, and Eric's ability to do academics isn't necessarily keeping up. Eric knows he's decently smart—he's not _Ransom_ or anything, but he was usually a cut above most of his high school classmates, at least when it came to in-class work—so he doesn't really think he's not smart enough for Samwell, even though it sometimes feels that way. It's not like he can't comprehend his readings or structure his essays. It's that he can't focus on his readings or keep track of the due dates for his essays. Which probably means Jack is onto something with this whole ADHD thing.

Eric is honestly not sure he'd be able to find it in himself to care about flunking the test, given how happy he is about being with Jack, except that tests are a bigger part of class grades than they were in high school, and failing this one has pushed his grade in the class to the edge, and the coaches are on him about it. Jack isn't on his case exactly, but he is concerned. He advises Eric to talk to Disability Services immediately about the possibility of him having ADHD, because even being in the process of getting a diagnosis might earn him some degree of leniency from professors, although it'll take an actual diagnosis for accommodations to kick in.

So Eric goes to Disability Services the day after getting the test back. He feels a little weird being there—he's always thought of wheelchairs and blindness when he's heard the word "disability." But there are posters in the main room of the office about dyslexia (which—is there even a point to written posters about dyslexia? Eric isn't sure) and ADHD and something called dyscalculia that Eric's never heard of, and the posters make him feel like he's come to the right place. The woman behind the desk puts him at ease, too. She hands him some paperwork to fill out while he waits. One sheet asks his name, student ID number, what year he's in, and stuff like that, while the other paper asks him about feeling "down, depressed, or hopeless" and "feeling like a failure." Eric thinks about asking the woman at the desk about the sheet, but instead he takes a picture of it before filling it out and texts the picture to Jack.

Eric to Jack: _wtf is this?_

Jack Zimmermann: _That's a PHQ-9. It's a depression screening. _

Jack Zimmermann: _They gave me one last time I was at Health Services, even though I was there for bronchitis. _

Jack Zimmermann: _I think the school is just trying to get better at catching students with depression early enough to treat them, after that suicide last spring. _

Eric to Jack: _oh that makes sense_

Eric fills out the questionnaire (he sometimes feels like a failure and definitely thinks he's letting his family down, and he's sometimes restless, but he doesn't experience most of the other symptoms) and turns in the paperwork to the woman at the desk. Then, after waiting for a while, during which he scrolls through his Twitter feed, Eric is called back into a room to talk with another woman.

"I'm Sandra Gibson," says the woman. "Your intake form says you're Eric Bittle, and you're a sophomore. Is that right?"

"Yeah," says Eric.

"It's nice to meet you, Eric. What brings you in today?"

"Well, I think I might have ADHD. I just failed a test, and my academic eligibility is on the rocks. I'm on the hockey team, and I need to stay on it to keep my scholarship. And I've been reading a lot about ADHD lately, and everything I read just feels so familiar. I mean, I definitely get distracted easily and have trouble focusing and remembering due dates and deadlines, but I also sometimes hit the hyperfocus highway, and I have hyperfixations, and I think I experience rejection sensitivity dysphoria, too."

Sandra is giving him a skeptical look. "You're on the hockey team?"

"Yes," says Eric, letting his tone get steely. He's not going to say _bless your heart _to someone whose help he needs, but he's tempted to, anyway. "Number fifteen, right winger, first line."

Sandra's expression clears and she shifts in her chair. "Okay. Well, we can't make binding accommodations until you have an official diagnosis." She picks up a pen and writes something on a Post-It. "This is the name of a doctor who does ADHD evaluations. I'm not sure which insurance he takes or if he'll have openings, but he's quite good, so I advise working with him if you can. No matter where you go for an evaluation, though, it'll take a while to get a diagnosis. In the meantime, I'd advise you to talk to your professors and let them know that this is something you're pursuing, and ask if you can retake that test you failed."

Eric sighs. He's not sure if he'll be able to retake the test—that professor has never seemed to like him, and he doesn't have an official diagnosis (yet), and he wishes there were more Sandra could do, even though he's pretty sure there's not.

"If you do get a diagnosis, you'll need to bring us the paperwork, and then we'll work out a plan for accommodations. Accommodations might include a quiet, private space to take exams; extensions on assignments; or permission to use fidgets during class. Professors are required to allow you to use the accommodations we work out, but we require all accommodations to be reasonable. It's important to remember that accommodations aren't a substitute for treatment—if you need medication, therapy, or other things to help you cope, it's your responsibility to keep up with those things. If you have ADHD, academic accommodations from the school will not be as effective in isolation as they will be in combination with a treatment plan."

"Right," says Eric.

Sandra talks for a while longer, but Eric kind of unintentionally tunes it out, though he thinks he nods at the right times. When the meeting is over, Eric texts Jack on the way back to the Haus to let him know how it went.

Eric to Jack: _it seems like there's nothing disability services can do until i get a diagnosis_

Jack Zimmermann: _That sucks. :( Did they refer you anywhere at least?_

Eric to Jack: _kind of? they gave me the name of one doctor but idk if he takes my insurance_

Jack Zimmermann: _That's not very helpful. Do you want help with next steps?_

Eric to Jack: _OMG YES PLEASE_

Jack Zimmermann: _Cool. I'll be in my room for the next couple hours if you want to stop by. _

Eric to Jack: _omw_

When Eric gets to Jack's room, he knocks and then enters when Jack calls out, "Come in!" Nine days into his relationship with Jack, Eric is definitely not over the fact that he gets to come into Jack's room on a regular basis. Even Ransom, Holster, and Lardo don't get to do that. Eric's next goal is to get rid of the sad motivational poster Jack has. That thing has to be doing more harm than good. In the meantime, though, he needs to figure out how to get a diagnosis.

"This is the doctor who might be able to diagnose me," says Eric, handing the Post-It to Jack.

Jack takes the paper and frowns. "I hate when they don't give phone numbers or web addresses."

Eric feigns shock. "Jack Zimmermann, wanting to use the internet?"

"Autism fact," Jack says. He's been starting a lot of sentences that way when he and Eric have spent time together in the last week. Eric knows more about autism now than he'd realized there was to know just a couple weeks ago. "We hate calling people on the phone, especially strangers. I've been an adult for a while, Bittle. I've learned some workarounds, and the internet is one of them. I know how to use the Google."

Eric can't help but laugh. "The Google!" he says between fits of giggles. "_The _Google!"

Jack turns to his laptop. "Anyway. I'll look this person up and then you can call him."

Jack does, and then Eric calls. After being put on hold a couple of times and transferred once, Eric finally finds out that the doctor doesn't take Eric's insurance and isn't taking new patients anyway.

When Eric finishes that phone call with a heavy sigh, he sees that Jack has already gotten to his insurance company's website and is on the page that lists in-network psychiatric care. He's switching between that tab and new tabs where he's Googling the clinics listed and whether they do ADHD evaluations.

"Do you want me to do that?" Eric asks.

"It's fine," says Jack, and he keeps Googling, so Eric pulls up Twitter on his phone because he's not sure there's a way for two people to work on this problem at the same time.

Eventually, Jack narrows it down to three places where Eric can probably go to get evaluated for a diagnosis. "You should probably call all three, to make sure they actually do ADHD evaluations," says Jack. "Besides, this sort of thing usually involves a wait time, so you probably want to go with whichever one has the shortest wait. If you need a tiebreaker, maybe use driving distance?"

"Ooh, yeah, good point," says Eric. "These are all a ways off. The Uber is going to be super expensive."

Jack frowns at him. "Was that a joke?"

"No, why?" asks Eric.

"Because I have a car?" Jack replies, and it sounds like a question. "I can take you to your appointment."

"Jack, you don't need to—" Eric starts.

Jack takes Eric's hand. "My mom had cancer when I was in middle school, and my dad went with her to every one of her appointments. My father and I have our differences, but I learned a lot about how to be a partner from him."

Eric laughs nervously because he doesn't know how to react. Jack's devotion is amazing, of course, but it's also kind of overwhelming. "Jack, we've been together for _nine days_."

"Oh. Was that too much?" Jack asks.

"No," says Eric. "It's overwhelming, but in a good way."

"You sure, bud?" Jack asks. "I can tone it down. I just want to love you as well as I can, but I understand that that's . . . a lot."

Eric nods. "I'm sure. It is a lot, but I swear it's good."

"Good," says Jack. "Do you think you can call these places?"

"Yeah," says Eric. "Can I stay in here, though? It's easier to do scary things with you around, and also I'm worried I'll get sidetracked if I go to my room."

"Yeah, you can definitely stay in here," Jack replies. He writes down the three phone numbers on the back of the Post-It Eric got from Disability Services.

Eric calls all three places. True to their websites, they all do ADHD evaluations. One has a three-month wait; the second is booked out six weeks; and the third has a four-month waitlist. After hanging up with the third place, Eric sighs and says, "Well, that's a fairly obvious choice, then."

"Yeah," says Jack. "I understand if you want a break, but I think you should call the second place back as soon as possible to make sure you're able to get in quickly."

"Well, 'quickly,'" says Eric, making air quotes.

"Hey, the psychiatric world generally moves at a pretty glacial pace. Six weeks is actually not that bad."

"I suppose," says Eric, and then he calls the second place again and makes an appointment.

When that's all over, he asks Jack, "Can we cuddle now?"

Jack nods and gets up, moving toward his bed. "I think you've earned it. I'm setting a timer on my phone for thirty minutes, though. I do need to work on my thesis."

"Oh, right!" says Eric. "I've already taken enough of your afternoon—I'm sorry—"

"_Bittle_," says Jack. "I can spare half an hour, and you deserve to be cuddled. Get on the bed."

"Yes sir, Mr. Zimmermann," says Eric.

He means it to come off cheeky, to be obviously a joke, but Jack puts his face in his hands and Eric abruptly remembers that there's basically no such thing as "obviously a joke" when it comes to Jack.

"You don't have to," says Jack. "I shouldn't have phrased that like an order. You _never_ have to do what I say in the bedroom. Please only go along with my ideas if you want to."

Eric climbs onto the bed, sits next to Jack, and wraps an arm around him. "I know that, sweetpea. I'm the one who asked to cuddle. I definitely want to. And trust me, I got Shitty's consent speech too. I know that I'm allowed to say no, and I trust you to stop if I say stop and to let me leave if I want to leave. I'm here because I trust you, okay?"

Jack lowers his hands from his face. "Okay. Thanks."

Eric nestles against Jack's side. "Jack. You're a trustworthy person. You don't need to thank me for picking up on that."

Jack pushes his face into Eric's hair and sighs.

"Honey?" Eric asks. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

Jack pulls back, eyes wide, looking frightened.

Eric shakes his head. "Not like that. I mean, is there a reason that someone trusting you feels like a big gift, and not like an everyday occurrence?"

Jack looks at his lap. "When you combine the stereotypes about queer men with the stereotypes about autism—it just isn't pretty, you know? So yeah, there are other people who trust me, but I've gotten used to thinking it's because they don't know very much about me, at least in terms of demographic stuff like sexuality and disability status. And that, if they knew, it might be different. But you know, and you trust me anyway, and that—that feels like a lot."

"'A lot' in a good way?"

"God, yes," says Jack. "In the best way."

"Well," says Eric, "glad I could help, I guess." He leans harder against Jack, and Jack wraps an arm around him, and the stress and shame about failing the test fall away.

**A/N: Chapters two and three are coming in the next few days! Subscribe if you want to get emails when those go live!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: The characters belong to Ngozi Ukazu. **

**A/N 1: I had two betas for this fic: happyzimm and OrSaiKellieLonore. I am eternally grateful to happyzimm for their enthusiasm and OrSaiKellieLonore for their input and corrections. **

**A/N 2: I'm autistic, as is one of my betas; my other beta has ADHD and went through the diagnosis process recently. This doesn't mean we know everything about autism or ADHD, but I'm not randomly guessing, either. If you have ADHD and feel I've misrepresented the condition or the diagnosis process, I'm open to hearing that, but if you don't have ADHD or autism please don't criticize the representation here. **

**A/N 3: This is a canon-divergent fic because Jack and Bitty are already together before Jack graduates. Jack and Bitty's neurodivergence is not meant to be canon-divergent, however. Certainly the characters aren't confirmed to have ADHD or autism in the original comic, but they have a lot of traits consistent with those conditions, and I'm trying to write them as compliant with both canon and my headcanons.**

**A/N 4: This chapter contains ableism. Just a heads-up.**

The next day, Eric updates Hall and Murray about having made an appointment for an ADHD evaluation. Hall warns him not to try anyone else's ADHD medication; if it shows up in drug tests and Eric doesn't have a prescription, there'll be hell to pay, since ADHD meds are stimulants and it's against NCAA regulations to play under the influence of stimulants without a valid prescription. Eric promises not to take anyone else's medication; he also makes a mental note to remember that ADHD medications are stimulants so that he can look up whether it would be possible to caffeinate himself into focusing. After he's done meeting with his coaches, he walks to the office of the professor whose test he failed. On the way, he texts Jack:

Eric to Jack: _remind me to check the effects of caffeine on people with adhd_

Jack Zimmermann: _Okay. Why?_

Eric to Jack: _meds for adhd are stimulants, so maybe i can use caffeine while i wait for a diagnosis_

Jack Zimmermann: _I think I've heard of that! Yeah, we can talk about that later. I'll make sure you don't forget. _

Eric to Jack: _thanks, honey. _

Eric puts his phone away and climbs the steps to the building where his professor's office is. When he reaches the correct office, he takes a moment to adjust his shirt before knocking and entering the small room. Professor Wilson looks up from her computer and says, "Eric! Hello."

"Hi," says Eric.

"I was wondering when you'd come by. Are you here to ask about extra credit?"

"Um, sort of?" says Eric. "I mean, extra credit would be great. I was also wondering if I could retake the test I failed? I totally forgot the test was happening, and I've been talking with Disability Services about getting evaluated for an ADHD diagnosis, because I have a lot of trouble with focusing and remembering deadlines and stuff like that. And Disability Services suggested I ask for the opportunity to retake the test."

Professor Wilson rolls her eyes. "I swear, every year psychologists come up with a new way to pathologize the human experience. Do you have a diagnosis and accommodations?"

"No," says Eric. "I just started the process of trying to get diagnosed."

"Well then, there's nothing forcing me to accommodate you, and my syllabus clearly states that I don't allow students to retake tests. I do offer extra credit—a five-page paper for a five-percent increase in your final grade in the class, if you get full points on the paper. For a topic, you may choose to respond to any reading we've done so far this semester. That is your option. Take it or leave it."

"But Disability Services said—"

"Do you have that in writing?"

"What?"

"If Disability Services emails me regarding your mandatory accommodations, or if you can show me a signed letter, I will allow you to retake the test. If not, then stop wasting my time."

Eric hasn't confronted this degree of outright hostility from a grown-up since the time he asked his fifth grade teacher what "gay" meant. Some of the collegiate hockey teams he's faced have been more generous to him than this. He clutches at his backpack straps and exits the office without saying anything else, because clearly there's nothing he can say to get into Professor Wilson's good graces.

When he gets back to the Haus, Eric stress-bakes two pies. Jack comes downstairs when Eric's pulling the second one out of the oven. Jack looks at the pies and says, "Are you okay?"

Eric sighs and sets the pie on a cooling rack. "Professor Wilson said she won't let me retake the test unless Disability Services forces her to, and that psychologists are 'pathologizing the human experience.'"

"What an ableist load of bullshit," says Jack. "I'm sorry. That sounds awful."

Eric sags against Jack. "It was, yeah."

"You wanted me to remind you to look into whether you could self-medicate with caffeine," says Jack.

"Oh, right!" says Eric, straightening up. "I totally forgot about that!"

Jack chuckles. "I had a feeling you would, bud. You might want to start writing down things you need to remember, or maybe putting them as notes or reminders in your phone. I don't mind trying to remember things for you every now and then, but I can't be a regular external hard drive for you. I've got a thesis taking up a lot of my brain right now, and even without that I'd still only be human, albeit a human without ADHD."

Eric feels like he's been stabbed, or perhaps checked. He wants to crumple to the ground or curl up in a ball, but he forces himself to breathe through the discomfort. He tries to ignore his thoughts, which are chanting _You messed up you're the worst Jack hates you everyone hates you_ over and over again. "Sorry," says Eric. "I didn't think about your thesis or about how much I was putting on you—"

Jack puts a hand on Eric's shoulder. "Breathe. It's okay, Bits. Yeah, I'm communicating a limit here, but I'm not mad that you didn't anticipate this limit before I mentioned it. I'm sure there will be plenty of things I forget to anticipate."

Eric takes a deep breath and nods. "You're probably right."

"I know I am," says Jack. "Anyway, I looked up the caffeine question, and the basic answer is yes, caffeine should help you focus. It's not as good as prescription medication, but upping your caffeine intake while you wait for an evaluation is probably a good idea. I mean, if we're right that you have ADHD. Which we probably are. But I guess if the caffeine just makes you jittery and doesn't help at all then that might be a sign we're on the wrong track."

"That would suck," says Eric.

"Why?" asks Jack. "Wouldn't it be one less thing to worry about?"

Eric shakes his head. "It would mean that it's my fault for procrastinating, and not being able to keep track of things, and talking too much, and taking criticism too hard. A diagnosis would mean that it's not all my fault, and that I might be able to get help with some of that stuff."

"Oh, right," says Jack. "That's kind of how the autism diagnosis felt, too, even though I hadn't been expecting it. Sorry, that was a silly question."

"You don't need to apologize. Was that a . . . theory of mind thing?" Eric guesses, trying to remember what Shitty and Jack have told him about autism in the past week and a half.

"Maybe?" says Jack. "I couldn't guess what your thought process was, so probably." He meets Eric's eyes for a moment and then looks back down at the counter. Eric is starting to realize that Jack only makes eye contact when he's substantially more serious than usual—which is saying something—and that eye contact means to listen particularly carefully to whatever he's about to say. "Thanks," says Jack. "For paying attention to what I'm telling you and trying to remember it and apply it. That means a lot."

"Jack, _of course_," Eric replies. "You're helping me figure out my brain. It's only fair that I try to figure out yours as well. And besides, I want to _know you_. I want to be the best partner to you that I can be, and that means paying attention to what makes you who you are and learning how to anticipate and work around the things that are hard for you."

"I love you," says Jack.

Eric grins and then goes up on tiptoe to kiss him. "I love you, too," he says when the kiss breaks. Then he looks at the pies he's spent the afternoon baking. "I'm pretty sure the first pie should be cool enough to eat by now."

"One slice," says Jack.

"For you, you mean?" Eric asks.

"Yeah. I think I can handle one slice."

Eric cocks his head. "From a sensory perspective or a diet perspective?" He doesn't really have a grasp of Jack's sensory issues yet, but he's trying.

"Diet," Jack replies. "Your pies are pretty good from a sensory perspective, especially right out of the oven. I mean, obviously they taste amazing, but the texture is okay too."

"I would have been so offended if you'd told me the texture was just okay a couple weeks ago," says Eric.

"'Would have been'?" Jack asks. "You're not now?"

"Of course not," says Eric. "I know your sensory sensitivities aren't about me."

Jack kisses Eric's forehead and says, "I really do love you."

"I love you too," says Eric.

OoOoOoO

With difficulty and a lot of reminders from both his phone and from Jack, Eric does Professor Wilson's extra credit. The hockey season continues, and Eric and Jack keep getting coffee at Annie's after most of their morning practices and come out as a couple to the rest of the team. Jack sends Eric articles about executive function hacks and how to stay organized with ADHD, and Eric looks up some on his own, too. Fidgets arrive at the Haus in a package addressed to Eric, and Eric bakes Jack a pie in thanks.

When Jack and Eric have been dating for almost four weeks, Jack asks Eric to clear his schedule for the night of their one-month anniversary so that Jack can take him out. "I don't want to be responsible for your not finishing your homework, Bits," says Jack, standing in the doorway to Eric's room, "so I'm telling you now so that you can have everything done ahead of time and we can enjoy the evening."

Eric wiggles his eyebrows. "Enjoy the evening, Mr. Zimmermann?" He and Jack haven't had sex, but he's wondering if that's coming soon.

"Yes?" says Jack. "That's what I just said?"

"Were you _suggesting_ something?" Eric asks, wiggling his eyebrows some more.

"What—? Oh. That." Jack steps into Eric's room and shuts the door behind him. "I mean, I can be suggesting something if you want me to be."

"What do you want, sweetpea?" Eric asks, suddenly worried that he's moving too fast for Jack.

"Sex can be good. And I'm interested if you are. I mean, not right this second, but soon. After our anniversary date on Thursday might be a good time, if that's what you want, too."

Eric smiles. "That sounds great."

"Have you had sex?" Jack asks.

Eric's smile drops and he looks at the floor. "No. Made out with a couple of guys at parties but that's as far as I've gone." He rubs the back of his neck and says, "Ugh, that's so embarrassing to admit to you."

"Why?" Jack asks.

"There's just this point where it's, like, embarrassing to still be a virgin, you know? And I feel like I've hit that point."

"Bits, you're _nineteen_. Even if a point does exist where it's embarrassing to still be a virgin, I'm pretty sure it's long after nineteen."

"Maybe," Eric mutters. "Were you a virgin at nineteen?"

Jack sighs. "No, but I wish I had been."

Eric can feel his blood run cold, and he feels ashamed of complaining about being a virgin when he knows how many worse things there are in the world. "Oh God. Did something happen?"

"Not like that," says Jack. "I mean, my first relationship, when I was eighteen, was definitely not a good thing. But it wasn't . . . coercive."

Eric can breathe again. "I'm sorry it wasn't good."

"So am I," says Jack. "But I think it'll be good with you."

"We don't have to do anything you don't want to do," Eric assures him.

"Bits. My best friend is Shitty Knight. I am well aware of how consent works. I want to have sex with you if you want to have sex with me. Okay?"

Eric smiles. "Okay."

So a few days later Jack drives Eric to Boston and takes him to a restaurant that seems to specialize in comfort food. It's not as nice a restaurant as Eric might have expected Jack to frequent, given who his parents are and the kind of money his family has, but it's quiet on a Thursday, and the lights are on the dim side, and the menu is simple, and it's probably this last fact that's drawn Jack here. Jack orders chicken tenders and Eric orders what's essentially a dressed-up hamburger.

After they've ordered and the waiter has taken their menus, Jack says, "You've been playing well lately, Bittle."

Eric smiles and ducks his head. "Thanks. I think I play better when I'm happy."

Jack and Eric both look up at the same time, and there's a split second of eye contact before Jack looks back down at the table. "You're happy?"

"Jack. I'd been pining for you for _months_ and now we're finally dating. _Yes_, I'm happy." Eric aches to take Jack's hand, but they're in Boston and the Bruins have been courting Jack, so the closet is a necessary evil. "Are _you_ happy?"

"God, yes," says Jack immediately. "You are far and away the best partner I've ever had, romantically and on ice, and it is a joy to share a Haus with you and play on your line."

Eric cocks his head. "Are you sure I'm the best partner you've had on the ice? I mean, from what I've heard about you and Kent Parson—"

"He was bad for me," Jack interrupts. "I don't know how much was his fault and how much was the natural result of trying to date me when I didn't know much about my neurodivergence or my needs yet, and trying to keep the relationship secret, but it was a bad time all around, and I really don't think Kent helped. Yeah, we clicked on the ice, and he's a good hockey player. But I don't think I ever trusted him, at least not all the way, and that made him hard to play with. I pulled off what I needed to pull off because I didn't see any other good options, but I wouldn't say he was a good partner in any sense."

Eric wishes more than anything that he could demonstrate affection to Jack one way or another, but it's not the right time for Jack to come out, and that means that there are risks he shouldn't take. "I'm so sorry, sweetpea," Eric says, trying to pour a hug into his voice (except Jack doesn't pick up on vocal tone, damn). "That sounds awful."

"It kind of was, yeah," says Jack. "There's a reason I overdosed." He chuckles. "I think I've heard that talking about your ex isn't good first date etiquette, and I haven't heard the same thing about discussing an overdose, but I'm guessing the same principle applies. Should we talk about something else?"

"If you want," says Eric. "What do you want to talk about? Classes? Graduation? NHL teams that want to sign you?"

"We maybe should discuss that, actually," says Jack. "I've been talking to my father, and he says it's all right if I want to make staying on the East Coast a priority. To be near you—and the rest of the guys and Lardo, of course. Obviously I need to be aware that I could be traded, but I have a good amount of control over where I wind up first, especially with how the team's been doing lately. So I wanted to let you know that there's a decent chance it'll be Providence, and my second choice is the Bruins. But the Falcs just seem great, especially with Georgia Martin there."

"Are you sure?" Eric asks. "About staying on the East Coast? If it has to do with me? Because it's only been a month, and I'd just hate—I mean, I'd hate for this to end at all, but I'd especially hate for it to end and for you to resent me for keeping you out East if that's not what you want."

"Yes, I'm sure," Jack says. "Bittle, _the day we got together_ you said you wanted to face the future with me. That's what I want, too. It's probably too early to be sure of things, but I wouldn't resent you, no matter what happened. I'm sure of that."

Eric grins at him. "Okay. So you want to play for the Falconers?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: The characters belong to Ngozi Ukazu. **

**A/N 1: I had two betas for this fic: happyzimm and OrSaiKellieLonore. I am eternally grateful to happyzimm for their enthusiasm and OrSaiKellieLonore for their input and corrections. **

**A/N 2: I'm autistic, as is one of my betas; my other beta has ADHD and went through the diagnosis process recently. This doesn't mean we know everything about autism or ADHD, but I'm not randomly guessing, either. If you have ADHD and feel I've misrepresented the condition or the diagnosis process, I'm open to hearing that, but if you don't have ADHD or autism please don't criticize the representation here. **

**A/N 3: This is a canon-divergent fic because Jack and Bitty are already together before Jack graduates. Jack and Bitty's neurodivergence is not meant to be canon-divergent, however. Certainly the characters aren't confirmed to have ADHD or autism in the original comic, but they have a lot of traits consistent with those conditions, and I'm trying to write them as compliant with both canon and my headcanons.**

**A/N 4: This chapter contains ableism. Just a heads-up.**

Two weeks before Eric's ADHD evaluation, he receives a stack of paperwork in the mail asking about his symptoms and what he was like as a child. He hasn't talked to his parents about any of this yet—the ADHD evaluation process is so tied up in his mind with Jack and the new relationship that he hasn't been able to even contemplate calling his parents—but he can't remember enough about what he was like as a small child to complete the paperwork, so it seems like involving his parents is going to be necessary. Eric wants to sit in Jack's room while he makes the call, because Jack makes him feel so much calmer and more at peace, but he doesn't think he can sit in his boyfriend's room and pretend to be straight and single on the phone, so he stress-bakes a pie and then heads to his own room to make the phone call.

"Dicky!" his mother trills into the phone the moment she picks up. "I feel like I haven't talked to you in forever!"

Eric ducks his head, mildly ashamed, even though his mother can't see him and won't notice the gesture. "Sorry, Mama. I've been pretty busy with hockey and classes."

"Playoffs are coming up, aren't they?"

"In about three weeks," says Eric. "So we're practicing all the time. But that's not what I'm calling about. I'm calling because, well, I've been starting to wonder if I have ADHD. You know, attention deficit—"

"I am a _teacher_, Dicky; I know what those letters stand for," says his mother. "But really? You think you have that? You were always such a sweet child. Most of my students with ADHD have been real trouble-makers."

"I think making trouble is one of the ways to get diagnosed early," says Eric. That's something he read in one of the articles Jack sent him. "But I always lose track of deadlines, and I have a lot of trouble with procrastinating. And there's other stuff, too. There's something called the hyperfocus highway, where you get really focused on something that may or may not be productive, like I get with baking sometimes. And then there's a symptom called rejection sensitivity dysphoria, which means that you take criticism really, really hard, and I resonate with that, too."

"I think that's just your personality," his mother says.

"What if ADHD is the reason behind parts of my personality?" Eric presses. "I've been trying things that help people with ADHD lately, like caffeine and fidgets, and they've been helping me focus better than I ever have before." He takes a deep breath and says, "I've already made an appointment to get evaluated for a diagnosis. It's next week. I'm supposed to fill out some paperwork beforehand, and there are questions about what I was like when I was little that I need help answering. Can you help me with those?"

His mother sighs. "I suppose so."

Eric learns a lot in the ensuing conversation. He learns that he loved to run around and climb trees as a child, for hours on end, and his early elementary teachers commented on both his fidgeting and his daydreaming, but he fidgeted less once he started figure skating. He learns that when he went more than two days without figure skating he stopped sleeping and lost his temper. He learns that he started baking when he was only three and it was all he wanted to do or talk about for a long, long time. He manages to wheedle his mother into answering the questions from the form as well: questions about "low frustration tolerance" and "excessive talking" and "procrastinating" and plenty of other symptoms he might not have thought of. His mother doesn't necessarily rate him as highly on the symptoms as he would rate himself, but even from her answers it's pretty clear to Eric that he's probably on the right track in exploring this diagnosis.

When Eric has what he needs—it takes a while; the forms are long—he says, "Well, thank you, Mama. That's all I need."

"You're welcome," his mother says, somewhat stiffly. "Call me more often, will you? You shouldn't leave your poor mother hanging for five weeks from one conversation to the next."

Eric sighs. "You're right. I'll call you before playoffs start, okay? Sometime in the next three weeks." _I'll call you if I get a diagnosis_, he thinks but doesn't say. He's pretty sure they've both reached their limit for talking about ADHD in one day.

"All right, Dicky. Have a good rest of your day."

"You too, Mama," says Eric, and hangs up.

OoOoOoO

When Eric arrives at his diagnostic appointment—he and Jack are both skipping a morning of class for this, which is a shocking choice coming from Jack and makes Eric's heart swell just thinking about it—he's surprised that there are _even more forms_ to fill out in the waiting room. He mailed in the main paperwork about a week ago, but apparently there are yet more questions he needs to answer. Beside him, Jack pulls out a history textbook from his backpack, followed by two stim toys, one of which Jack hands to Eric.

"Will this help?" Jack asks.

"Probably," says Eric, taking the stim toy. It's the pencil with the plastic wings. Jack had lent this one to Eric before buying Eric stim toys but had taken it back once Eric's stim toys arrived. Eric maybe should have thought of bringing his own stim toys to this appointment, but he's pretty accustomed by now to Jack being the organized and prepared one in this relationship.

"Cool," says Jack, and then he turns to his history reading while absently playing with his own stim toy.

The paperwork that Eric has to do in the waiting room isn't long. When Eric finishes it, he returns it to the receptionist and then scrolls through Twitter on his phone until he gets called back. As he stands to head in to the appointment, Jack looks up at him and smiles. Eric's pretty sure the smile is a conscious effort on Jack's part—the two of them have had some conversations about Jack's facial expressions and vocal inflection, and those conversations have given Eric the impression that Jack can sometimes communicate using those things if he has the spare mental capacity to think hard about them, but that it's very rare for him to do much with his face or vocal tone without trying. Eric smiles back nervously and then follows the doctor into her office.

When they arrive at the office, the doctor pulls back the chair on one side of the small table. Before she sits down, she turns to Eric and sticks out her hand for him to shake. "I'm Dr. Smith," she says.

"Eric Bittle," says Eric. "Nice to meet you." He can hear his accent coming out stronger than usual. That often happens when he meets new people.

Dr. Smith smiles, seeming amused. "Nice to meet you as well," she says, and then she sits down. When Eric sits, too, Dr. Smith opens the laptop that's on the table and powers it on. "I've read through all of your paperwork, but I need to ask you some questions that are similar to the paperwork anyway. Try to treat this appointment as an opportunity to add things and make corrections and clarifications to what you've already written. And remember, you'll get the best outcome if you get the correct diagnosis, so it's in your best interest to be completely honest with me."

Eric nods.

Dr. Smith starts by asking him questions similar to what he's already answered on the paperwork—how he does with keeping up with his assignments, his frustration tolerance, whether he's been told he talks too much, whether sometimes he focuses too much on the wrong thing, how he feels when people criticize him, and things like that. Eric feels like the answer to the question about talking too much is probably obvious given how much he's rambling in response to each of these questions. Then the questions veer into territory he's not as familiar with from the paperwork or from things he's been reading about ADHD: Dr. Smith asks if his emotions "get the better of him," whether he sometimes doesn't need sleep, whether he goes on spending binges, whether he feels like he's invincible sometimes and then does things he regrets. Eric answers "no" to most of these questions—he always needs sleep, and he isn't always as careful with money as he should be, but he's never been irresponsible in outrageous ways, just in little ones.

That section of questions seems to come to a close, and then Dr. Smith asks Eric if he has anything to add.

"I guess I just wanted to say that I've been using caffeine and stim toys to try to make things better on my own, as much as possible, and they've really helped? Like, things aren't as good as I think and hope they could be, but being able to stim while reading has made it easier to get through my assignments, and I've focused better since I started drinking more coffee, and I think that means something."

Dr. Smith nods. "You've been stimming this entire appointment. I did notice that."

Eric looks down at his hand. He's surprised to find that he's still fidgeting with the winged pencil. "Oh. Right."

"You definitely have ADHD," says Dr. Smith. "The point of this appointment was to make a diagnosis, so we'll only talk broadly about next steps right now. I want you to make a follow-up appointment for two weeks from now. I don't prescribe medication at the first appointment, but we can talk about that in future appointments if you're open to it."

"I'm definitely open to it," Eric says, and then he realizes that Dr. Smith wasn't done talking.

"Good to know," says Dr. Smith. "I think you'd benefit from therapy as well. I'm guessing that what would work best for you would be really practical sessions—not delving into your feelings as much as learning life hacks and tricks to work around your brain. There's a therapist here who I think might work well with you. His name is Dr. Green."

Eric frowns. "So I'm supposed to come back and see you, but also see someone else? Why does this take two doctors?"

"I'm a psychiatrist," Dr. Smith explains. "I diagnose people and prescribe them medication. Dr. Green is a psychologist. He does therapy, but he doesn't prescribe medication."

"Oh," says Eric. "I didn't know there was a difference."

"Well, then, I suppose you've learned multiple things at this appointment," says Dr. Smith. "Now, I think it's important to remind you that psychiatry treats symptoms, not disorders. Each person's experience with a disorder is different, and it wouldn't make sense to try to treat you for symptoms you don't have. Some people with ADHD self-isolate or wind up being kicked out of social groups because they don't understand social norms. This doesn't seem to be an issue for you, so your therapy probably won't focus much on social skills. On the other hand, it seems like you struggle significantly with executive function and keeping on top of your school work, so your therapy and medication will probably focus quite a bit on helping you with that. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah," said Eric. "If I start seeing Dr. Green, will you give him the notes from this appointment?"

"Yes, if you sign a release of information," says Dr. Smith.

"Okay," says Eric.

"Do you have other questions?" Dr. Smith asks.

"Is there anyone you can refer me to who's closer to Samwell?" Eric asks. "My bo—my friend drove me to this appointment, but I don't have a car, and I don't want to make him drive me to appointments on a regular basis."

"I could try to refer you to someone closer to Samwell, but there aren't many people who specialize in ADHD in this area outside of Boston, so I think you'll have the best result if you stay here. Could you see if you could borrow a car?"

Eric thinks. "Yeah, maybe."

"Any other questions?"

Eric honestly feels like his brain has been put through a blender over the course of the appointment, so he shakes his head. He's sure he'll be kicking himself later for things he didn't ask, but he can't think of anything right now.

"Well, make a follow-up appointment to see me again in two weeks," says Dr. Smith. "If you can find a car to borrow, make an appointment with Dr. Green for as soon as you can get in—he's probably booked out at least a few weeks. But even if you can't find a car to borrow, coming back to see me and figure out medication will be important."

"Okay," says Eric, and then he exits the office and makes his way back to the waiting room. Jack looks up when Eric comes back into the waiting room, but Eric doesn't beeline for his boyfriend; instead, he stops by the receptionist and books a follow-up appointment with Dr. Smith. Once that's done, he walks up to Jack and says quietly, "If I came back here for therapy, could I borrow your car?"

Jack looks up from his textbook and says, "Yes."

"Thanks. I need to book a therapy appointment, then. Can you wait a couple more minutes?"

"Sure," says Jack, turning back to his textbook.

Eric makes the therapy appointment. It's for three weeks from now, which might be the middle of playoffs if Samwell doesn't lose right away; Eric doesn't even want to think about what that week might look like. The appointment made, Eric walks back to Jack, who stuffs his textbook and the stim toy he's been playing with into his backpack, and then the two of them exit the office and get in Jack's car.

"So, if you're going back, that means you got diagnosed, right?" Jack asks, turning the key in the ignition.

"Yeah," says Eric. "Sorry. I meant to tell you that right away."

Jack shrugs and starts backing out of his parking space. "It wasn't that hard to figure out. Is there anything else you want to say about the appointment?"

"Honestly, my brain feels a little like mush right now. Is it okay if we don't talk about it?"

"Sure," says Jack. He stops at the edge of the parking lot, grabs the aux cord, and hands it to Eric. "Do you want to put your music on?"

"Jack, you're the one who drove me here. Shouldn't we listen to your music?"

"I mean, we can if you really want to," says Jack. "But I just spent an hour and a half reading stuff for my senior seminar, which is basically my special interest, while you had to dig up details of your life for a stranger. Pretty sure you've had the harder morning, bud."

"This boy," says Eric, and then he plugs in his phone.


End file.
